It was clear that the completion of that will would have to be postponed. Foster's chagrin was obvious. To his legal mind form and precedent were everything. What does it matter if we die, so long as our affairs are left in order? To have been so near the attainment of his wishes--for it had looked as if the wily sinner was about to sign--only to be disappointed after all, was a severe trial to his sense of professional propriety. For my part, on that point at least, I was at ease. I was persuaded that Reggie would not find so many thorns in his path as his man of business predicted. While the sick man mumbled, I regarding him askance, with half an eye on Foster's discomfiture, in came Edith, with Violet at her heels. I had not meant that Violet should come, too, and made a half-step forward to request her to withdraw. But both Reggie and Hancock were in front of me. Reggie made a dash towards Vi, the physician appropriating Edith. Indeed he assumed command of both; his remarks being addressed to the pair. He spoke in a sort of stage aside; his words being perfectly audible to me. 'My dear Miss Desmond! My dear Lady Violet! Our long-lost friend is in a sad way; very, very sad. At any moment the end may come. But he expresses such a desire to see you, and shows so much impatience at the idea of your being kept from him that I thought we might venture. Only be careful not to agitate him.' 'Our long-lost friend' showed impatience then and there. 'What's he--what's he--gabbling about? ---- the man! Let them come!' Hancock shrugged his shoulders; he dropped his voice. 'You hear?--Such language! But you mustn't mind.' He brought them forward. 'Here, my dear lord, are two ladies who have come to see you--Miss Desmond and Lady Violet Howarth.' 'Edith?' He hit upon her surname; he alone knew how. 'You're an old woman--aren't you?' That was a civil thing to say,--particularly from a man in his position. I could have shaken him again. Edith only smiled. 'I'm not so young as I was. But you're not an old man, and I'm younger than you.' 'Old?--I am old. Rotten. Done. I feel a thousand. The years lie heavy--on me. I was--never--young.' The thing was curiously true of Twickenham. He never had been young. Mentally, physically, and morally, he had been born old. As a boy he had all an old man's vices. As Edith perceived what a wreck the creature seemed I saw that tears were in her eyes. 'I am sorry to meet you, after all these years, like this. Poor Leonard!' She stretched out her hand to touch his brow. I could have snatched it back. He lay perfectly still, staring up at her with fixed, unseeing eyes. 'Why--sorry?' 'I had hoped it would all have seemed so different.' 'It's all right. I've had enough. Glad it's over.' 'Are you in pain?' 'Pains of hell.'